"Why, Strangways, you remember, or don't remember, was the name of the fellow that was always with—with—that cross-grained muff."
"With Guy Deverell, you mean?"
"Ay, with him that night, and constantly, and abroad I think at those German gaming-places where he played so much."
"I forgot the name. I remember hearing there was a person in your company that unlucky night; but you never heard more of him?"
"No, of course; for he owed me a precious lot of money;" and from habit he chuckled, but with something of a frown. "He could have given me a lot of trouble, but so could I him. My lawyers said he could not seriously affect me, but he might have annoyed me; and I did not care about the money, so I did not follow him; and, as the lawyers say, we turned our backs on one another."
"Strangways," murmured the Rector, musingly.
"Do you remember him now?" asked Sir Jekyl.
"No; that is, I'm not sure. I was in orders then though, and could hardly have met him. I am sure I should recollect him if I had. What was he like?"
"A nasty-looking Scotch dog, with freckles—starved and tall—a hungry hound—large hands and feet—as ugly a looking cur as you ever beheld."
"But Deverell, poor fellow, was a bit of a dandy—wasn't he? How did he come to choose such a companion?"